What Doesn't Kill You
by Nagia
Summary: [W/Jason X!] [completed] Ashley is back in Valnain to keep an eye on the Cardinal, when he receives some highly unexpected news. Is it real, or a VKP trap?
1. CHAPTER ONE

Well, many, many thanks to Jason X, who helped me through this. And helped me start off. He was an awesome co-writer, and I'm mostly pleased with how this turned out. The clunkers are ones I can live with, so to speak.

And, you know, you're inevitably made stronger.

=====

****

What Doesn't Kill You

Nagia and Jason X

Chapter One

1

Ashley's breath frosted in the air, making a puff of white smoke, though it did so only in his vision. A man walked right past him, never even looking at him even though he was six feet tall. The illusion of invisibility was leaking slowly away at his remaining energy, but putting on another would do little. What he really wanted was sleep, and a good deal of it.

He stared at the Cathedral before him, his eyes narrowed and his brow furrowed, a truly ferocious scowl on his face. The hideous looks he'd tossed casually at Grissom and Sydney's cultists did not compare to his current expression. Had any mortal seen him, they wisely would have run and not because of his reputation as a murderer.

((_tell me why you have come_)) The voice reaching into his soul was feminine, and while not loud, neither was it inaudible.

((_out_)) He replied forcefully, pushing the too-familiar presence in the desired direction and slamming the entry to his mind and soul shut.

((_WHERE WERE YOU_))

This contact made him wince; being this loud and invasive was unusual for Callo, but he supposed that she was upset at him for something. Couldn't for the life of him guess why, however. Women could be such _mysteries_.

((_Another time Merlose... I am busy_)) He replied, now focusing on activity within the Cathedral.

When no response came, he assumed she had accepted his words.

__

Hmmm. The Cardinal seals his chambers well. Why can't I scry to that aide, though? I always could before.

The movements of magick in the Cathedral had always been odd, but now they shifted to a downright bizarre flow. 

Then, suddenly, the aide's mind was laid open before him, like a gruesome tapestry that he'd been trying to see. 

He knew a trap when he saw one, and turned to go— he'd been here too long, surely a Church-trained Mage had sensed him by now. 

He mentally cursed himself for an idiot when he saw her, standing there with her arms folded across her chest and her lips pursed. 

And to think, he hadn't sensed her. She'd grown in her power since he last saw her. 

The noonday sun contrasted the dark figure before him with the light gray cobblestone, the array of light cast by the Cathedral painting the center colors.

((_time has not been kind to you Agent Riot_)) She said, still using his VKP title, even after all this time.

((_what mean you_)) He replied, frowning at her odd statement. He was immortal now— he neither died nor aged. 

((_that scowl_)) There lay a smile in her voice.

He raised his eyebrows, confused for a moment. Then he remembered the Mage. The frustration at his difficulty in making contact with him. He relaxed his face muscles, letting his expression return to its normal, stone cold blank slate. 

((_you came not to shoot th' breeze_)) He said, anxious to return to his work. ((_what business brings you to me this day_))

She sighed in exasperation. ((_always to the point eh Riskbreaker? some things never change_)) 

He sighed as well. Time, as they said, was money, and she was wasting his. ((_as you say_)), he pressed. ((_to the point..._))

She placed her hands on her hips. ((_the point is a riot. two of them_))

He raised an eyebrow quizzically. ((_I have sensed no such disturbance..._))

She laughed. It was quite a sight. Actually, not one at all. Not a soul could see either of them in the middle of the busy street, and he felt that it was almost a shame. She was rather beautiful when she laughed. ((_you have grown senile as well these past years,_)) she mused. ((_two riots_)), she continued. ((_ones with names_))

The scowl returned to his face. ((_I have no time for this_)) he spat. ((_My patience for the VKP and its lies has long since worn thin_))

Callo's face softened. She had been upset with him at first, but now it was clear that she had not approached him to argue. ((_Your family, Ashley. They yet live..._))

((_You lie!_)) He cried, turning away. 

She magicked before him. ((_'Tis neither lie nor aught the VKP would tell you._))

((_how would you find such information, even if it were true_)) He replied, his eyes dangerously narrowed.

((_The Rood you wear about your neck, Riot. The energy of the person connected to it does not stink of death. It lives. And it loves you._))

((_we shall speak of this in flesh, Merlose_)) He said, and changed his illusion to that of a young VKP cadet.

She nodded, and vanished, knowing it would only antagonize him when he had to pick up her mental trail.

****

2

Callo gazed down at the man sitting at her kitchen table, fingering the Rood about his neck. Night had long since fallen, and Ashley had not moved from his seat. He seemed so sad, and alone, and small, despite his size. 

The vision, as all of them before had, came like lighting, sending jolts down her body and speeding her heart. 

__

(Her eyes oh god her eyes her eyes blood from her mouth jolt up my arm oh god who is this woman she doesnt fit the orders she doesnt fit who the hell oh god her eyes)

And then the images came: a woman, laughing, wandering off— dying in agony as the viewer slaughtered her. A little boy, affectionate and smiling with a wide, bright smile; a crossbow bolt, the arrow piercing his heart. The shock of loss, the jolt of murder, the abandonment and joy of the hunt, all emotions mixed together in the pit of her stomach.

She winced, physically hurt by what she had just seen. 

"Merlose?" Ashley asked, suddenly returning to reality and noticing her presence in the room. "Is aught wrong?"

"Nay," She replied, shaking her head sadly. What could she possibly say?

"Lie not, Merlose. What ails thee?" He said sternly, glaring down at her.

She realized that she was in a most un-ladylike position, her knees on the floor and her feet behind her, spread apart.

She managed to stand, and then answered. "I…had a vision, but 'twas not a vision. 'Twas a…burst of emotion, and the sight of a thing I cannot describe, and the voice of a man's mind running through my head." 

And the feeling came again, lighting jolting all over her body and her stomach convulsed and her heart throbbed to an alien beat.

__

(The bright-haired woman falls, slain by a black knight's sword. Rushing to aid her, something by his ear. Turning, blur of grass, blur of a child falling. Collapsing. Head aches. Agony. Retching. Agony. Horror. Horror. Horror. Agony.)

Her hands tore at her head, she couldn't stop the tears, the sobs. She nearly choked. And then she felt so warm, so safe.

"Quiet, now. I know. I've seen it too. 'Tis…mine." His voice was softer, and while not gentle, was not as harsh as it often was. 

"What have you…barred from me, Riot? What have you forbidden me from feeling?"

"My memories and ghosts are mine, Merlose. I prefer to be their keeper."

Callo nodded, and frowned as she found that the world still bobbed even though she had ceased moving her head. Her neck ached.

She did not notice the floor as her head fell to greet it.

****

*INTERLUDE*****

"**_Wake_**." _The word of Command is enough to open her eyes, but not necessarily her mind, apparently._

Ashley watches grimly as Callo rolls over, turning on her side and trying to ignore the world— he notes the tear streaks on her cheeks and pities the lass. Visions in one's sleep are a generally unpleasant business, and for a Heart Seeker will not allow the poor Mage to rest. 

"**Live**." He Commands, touching her shoulder gently.

She moans and opens her eyes. 

"How long did I dream?" She asks blearily. "Did the lad manage without me?"

"Bordering on three days. I didn't know you'd grown that strong." Ashley replies wearily.

"Where shall you go next?"

"Home," he says, wary but willing to believe her. "I shall go home."


	2. CHAPTER TWO

What Doesn't Kill You

CHAPTER TWO

****

1

The house was small and quaint, surrounded by a white picket fence that her husband had built, the Riot House seemed empty without the tall presence. 

To Marco, it had always been thus. Sometimes, if his mother was sad enough, she would tell him what his father had been like.

To this day, Marco didn't understand why he'd left. He could still feel the pressure of his father's hand on his head, hear the man's smile in his quiet voice.

"I shall return as soon as I can. I always do, don't I?"

He hadn't returned, though. 

"Marcus, why do you refuse to come to Mass? Your father attended regularly… if only to make fun of Father Duane…" Tia said, her mind already busy with who would replace Father Duane again.

"Because they're a load of lying hypocrites and I can't stand the lot." Marco snarled. 

"MARCUS!"

"Mother, that is what they _are_. You've seen them do their false miracles!"

"And how know you that they are false? You are but a boy." 

"Soon to be a man. Surely they are not true, Mother. How can they be if they proclaim that no man can produce a miracle, and then do so themselves?"

"They do it in the name of Iocus. Iocus works through them." Tia insisted stubbornly, as she had with his father and with him for the last six years.

She walked out the door and around the corner, waving absently and smiling. 

****

2

Ashley watched her move away from the house. _Going to Mass_, the part of him that knew every inch of her and every angle of her face whispered. _She won't know who I am…_Whispered the part that had brought him here. 

He briefly considered stopping her, speaking to her, but decided against it.

__

As Callo Merlose once said, direct action is perilous.

Instead, he turned his attention to the house. If he was correct, which he apparently was, one more occupant remained within the house. 

Ashley silently slipped to the window, the illusion of invisibility once again cloaking his shoulders.

A boy, perhaps as young as ten or as old as twelve sat in a wooden chair by the fire, wrapped up in a quilt and thinking heavily. 

__

I still sit like that, 'pon occasion. Ashley thought, looking inside longingly, but then recovered his decorum and remembered that as an immortal, he wouldn't even get frostbite. 

He looked at the boy, with his red hair and his long limbs, and wondered when the boy would surpass Tia in height. Soon, no doubt. 

*

Ashley walked through the busy, snow-filled streets of Winhill, his boots thudding tiredly against the cobblestones and his cloak swishing about his knees. 

The cloak ripped beneath his boots and he nearly tripped over his feet.

The Dark rippled from its usual swath about his shoulders, drawing his attention to a blonde woman with piercing green eyes staring at him. 

She could see through his illusion, Ashley realized. She beckoned him into an alley.

"Master?" she asked, her voice cold and alien.

"Yes?" he replied quietly. He had long ago learned to humor the members of Sydney's cult.

"Whither lieth Sydney's grave?"

"…" There was nothing to say. He'd had naught to bury, nor any means to recover any of what he might bury, but the Dark's piteous howl at the death of its Master had kept him awake for nights. It had been unending. All the Dark had sobbed into his mind were the words "Sydney" and "dead" for a week. It had been bloody useless, really.

"_Whither _LIETH Sydney's _grave_?" the woman repeated.

"There is no grave, woman. There was naught t' bury, and no way to recover aught I might bury."

"At least ye're no' a liar. A Jan Rosencrantz fellow came 'round, a few days afore the disappearance, askin' after Mŭllenkamp and the Riots. 'E claimed as t' be the Master of the Dark, but he was no such thing, and I a told him so."

"Disappearance?" Ashley asked.

"Oh, aye. I pity Tia, the poor lass. Lost her husband to th' VKP's wars."

"Did she?" Ashley asked.

"Well, the VKP ne'er did say aught on th' matter, th' damned fools. Tia ne'er remarried, either. Raised the lad with no father, and he turned out a'right. He refuses to attend Mass, the good lad." With that, the woman chuckled.

"My thanks for the information," Ashley said. "Now, 'ave ye aught more useful?"

"Aye. They've set up wards about the Church, s' try not to enter there. There be no other Mages in Morgain, and the lot of 'em are mostly weak, any how. They'll listen t' ye, should ye need it."

"Thank you." He turned to leave. 

Just before he left the alley, he heard the woman's gruff voice call, "And don't forget to stop by what once was your home, _Ashley Riot_!" 

Ashley ignored her jibe as he strode from the alley, his steps echoing as hollowly 'gainst the stone as Sydney's had.

****

INTERLUDE

Tia looked into the window by the door, smiling softly at the sight of Marco curled up on the floor, wrapped in a blanket. 

The snow hadn't stopped, she noticed as she stepped through the door and realized that the house, despite the roaring fires in each room, was icy cold. 

It was enough to chill her very bones, the thought of Marco leaving a window open in this storm. The snow on the floor caught her eye; shaped vaguely like footsteps, the snow glistened and melted into small puddles of water.

Someone had entered, and they hadn't stamped their feet before doing so.

****

3

Ashley cursed the man patrolling the VKP recruiting building; not only was it a large port city, Dollet was the VKP's largest supplier of knights and agents. 

It also contained, deep within the recruiting building, a very large archive of every agent's personal history and physical and political status.

It was a pity his amnesia had never bothered him; had he thought on it, he might have come to Dollet again and discovered the truth. He'd had an opportunity, once. 

Finally, Ashley decided to wait. Callo's history and political status could wait; VKP spy or not, she had been right.

Tia and Marco yet lived, and that was almost more important than making sure the VKP couldn't find and hang him. While ineffectual, hanging would hurt, and it would attract more notice than he needed.

Ashley slipped off, teleporting back to the grave yard in Winhill. 

*

The night's cold wind seemed to rip violently at him and the dead trees' leaves rattled in the bitter gale. The place would have frightened him, had he been made of lesser mettle. He still couldn't help but wonder if the tales of demons haunting graveyards were true. Even so, he could handle whatever demon this graveyard threw at him.

"Sir?" Asked a quiet voice from behind him. "Sir, are you ill?"

He knew that voice; it was achingly familiar— he knew every tone, every slight inflection, every pause and the meaning behind it all.

And the owner didn't know him at all. His illusion must have slipped— and even that was an unfortunate miracle. 

He turned around; his shape changed into a ragged, weary traveler. 

"Nay, lass. I merely wandered in and need a bit of rest. I shall return to the inn directly." Ashley said, his illusory voice hoarse.

** **

INTERLUDE

As Tia watched the strange man leave, his steps oddly labored and his breathing wheezing, she considered asking the man to stay with her. But the inn was closer, and she couldn't risk having someone like him around Marco. 

She watched him go, and her mind flitted back to that single, sweet instant when she had thought she had seen Ashley. 


	3. CHAPTER THREE

****

What Doesn't Kill You

CHAPTER THREE

****

1

The goat boy looked up at the sudden disturbance of the goats— someone had trespassed on his rocky crag of the mountain.

"'Ey! Who are you?" He shouted at the black figure moving in the night. Marco, who had been quietly sitting behind one of the boulders and tracing the ancient glyphs with his fingers, said nothing.

Neither did the goat boy, but that may have been due to the stranger's arrow in his chest.

The stranger continued moving, but sent someone towards Marco's hiding place. 

Marco did not stand. He did not move as the figure approached. He did not make a sound. He had hidden from people more intent on finding him in broad daylight. The cave under the boulder had always made a good bolthole if people came too close.

The figure saw his shadow, though, and Marco went scrambling up the side of the outcropping. His hands slipped grabbing a few rocks and they went tumbling down upon his assailant.

He managed to reach the top, sending a few scattered rocks down. He went careening down the other side of the mountain, hoping to reach the valley below in time to warn people of the company of raiders.

He slipped; the strange came tumbling down after him. Marco jumped over a boulder in the field and ran through the forest, hoping to lose them there. He ran through the forest stream and headed to the picnicking fields near his home. 

The man continued to follow.

He ran through the thin dirt lane, jumping over whatever obstacles he encountered. By now, he was nearly out of breath and they were closer behind than ever.

He slammed into the well beside the tavern on the southern edge of town, his hands desperately gripping the edge to keep himself from falling in and the figure slowed to stop. 

"Thanks for the good run, kid." He said. "It all ends here."

Marco barely understood the words through the thick accent. He managed to run around the would-be attacker and entered the tavern.

****

In Between

Pan reined his horse in and ignored its whinny of protest as they stopped and faced the dark rider, who had entered with three other scouts.

"News?" Pan asked gruffly. Though rich and resonant, his voice did not carry across the clearing where the pack of raiders camped. 

One scout cleared his throat and said, quietly. "I believe a… child may have alerted the town to our presence."

Another turned to him, speaking in a feminine voice, "A child? Didn't Kimahri shoot one down?"

"There was another. He ran, I gave chase. The pest ran into a tavern." Replied the first scout. 

Pan sighed. His scouts, while good at tracking and just generally scouting around, were bad about letting people see them. This was the sixth village Callosus had lost to then with his ineptitude at tracking and silencing witnesses. But maybe no loss, Pan thought hopefully. Boys were known to tell tales; mayhaps the villagers would not believe him.

****

2

The barkeep gazed down at Marco, whose brown eyes were wide and scared. The lad had never told tales, preferring to tell the truth, but he just couldn't bring himself to believe it. No one had ever raided Winhill.

The strange traveler with red hair asked quietly, "How many were there?"

"I saw four. One of them killed the goat boy." Marco replied.

A mercenary snorted and replied, "Four isn't enough to raid."

"Scouts," mused the traveler. 

Marco blinked. "Scouts?"

"Aye. Their leader is wise enough to scout around and be make for certs that there be no one here to kill them all." 

"And how know you this?" Asked the mercenary. 

"Common sense and more years of fighting than you'll see, Iocus willing." The traveler said softly, sighing. 

The mercenary was silent for a long while. Silence reigned, apparently, for no one said a word. 

"Very well, old man." The traveler cringed at the mercenary's words. "If you are so convinced of the truth of the boy's words, then track them down." The mercenary turned to Marco. "Off with ye, lad."

Marco nodded and fled the tavern. 

*

He waited in the shadows as the old traveler exited the tavern— he had waited to see if anyone would believe him. However, he hadn't thought the old man would accept the mercenary's challenge. And even if the traveler had, Marco didn't think him to be in the physical condition to fight a band of men, scouts or not.

Just as Marco formed the thought, the form of the traveler dissolved, reemerging as a tall, redheaded man with a sword at his side and strange hair. The man cocked his head to one side, an odd expression flitting across his face.

"Silence. I'll hear none of your lies." He said after a moment. He then turned and looked directly at Marco. "Come out, boy. I'll not harm you."

Marco only reluctantly stepped out of the shadows. "How did you know I was here?"

"Finding a tall boy is an easy enough task. Tracking down a scout will be only slightly more difficult."

Marco remained silent at this declaration.

The man looked at him one last time, and then walked towards the town exit.

*

Ashley slunk through the woods, confident in his ability as a former Riskbreaker to conceal his noise. He hated raider jobs; there were always entirely too few and the raiders were entirely too arrogant. 

The camp, when he reached it, was easy to find due to the sound and smell. Most forests without camps of raiders did not stink of human excrement and the rotting carcasses of various animals hunted for sport. 

That and their foul intentions attracted the Dark's indicators: snowflies. 

Ashley glared down at the camp. Some fool had built a large fire. Even now, their leader struggled to put it out. He walked calmly down the hill.

He reached their leader before he could look up.

"I see two options before you. You may surrender and survive, or you may fight. Each and every one of you will die, in the last case," Ashley said coldly. He wished the man would choose to fight. It would make things that much more interesting.

Despite his outward wish for peace, Ashley prayed they would fight. He wanted— no _craved— _no damn it all he **_needed_** a blood bath. It would be almost as good as _sleep_, real _sleep_, when he hadn't been sucked into the Grey.

"Fight," the man growled.

"Your name?" Ashley asked. "I would like to know it before you die."

"I am Panteleimon."

And before anyone could move, or even scream, Panteleimon died with Ashley's sword in his gut.

And then, for the raiders at least, it all went to hell in a carriage full of horse dung. 

Four fell beneath his sword as he cleaved in it an arc around him. They died with battle cries on their lips, the fools.

One more rushed him, a man. The man appeared to be crying and he nearly managed to slice a bit of him with an oddly shaped blade. The curvature was like nothing he'd ever seen before; he'd have to confiscate it from his corpse.

Ashley wasted no time in getting through him than he had Panteleimon. He got through the man in almost no time and continued on to three others.

They lasted no longer than the others. Not one of them even managed to come close to landing a hit; he had cleaved their heads from their necks before they could even threaten him.

Noise came from a tent, like a little girl's crying. He caught the words "Pan" and "Manya," and something that sounded like "want to go home."

He did not duck inside the tent, instead standing in clear view on the outside. The tent's makings were thin, and he could see vague shadows of two women.

He cleared his throat— he would not slaughter women as they sat defenseless. He wasn't sure he _could_ kill two potentially noncombatant females. Something about the thought made his stomach turn and the Dark scream with rage.

One poked her head out of the tent. Her dark hair and eyes lent her a dangerous appearance. "Who are you?" She asked warily.

"Ashley Riot," Ashley replied simply. "I will not fight an unarmed woman. If you come out peacefully, I will not kill you."

"You killed Pan and Jal. So kill me as well." The woman said, exiting the tent fully. 

The second woman came flying out of the tent at the first woman's words. She held the woman back, pleading in a child's voice. "Please, Manya. Don't leave me all alone." The woman begged, and Ashley realized that she was thirteen at the most— certainly not a woman. 

"Have you that little faith in me?" Asked the older woman, now identifiable as Manya.

"Manya… please. Don't fight." The girl begged, the sound of tears in her voice.

"I have to, Laveda. Now be quiet and don't get any foolish ideas in that pretty little head of yours." Manya replied, pushing the girl away. "If I die, you'll let her be?"

"Aye. I will not kill a noncombatant." Ashley replied reassuringly. He had not said the word 'kill' before Manya attacked. Her sword managed to slash him in the stomach and Ashley parried her next blow, using the momentum to run her through.

'Laveda' fell to her knees and curled into a ball, sobbing. Ashley couldn't help but pity the girl. She had obviously been a pet to the leaders of this raiding bunch, and had learned to love them. 

And, of course, now she had no one to care for her.

Ashley silently extended a hand to her. She looked up at him through bleary, lifeless eyes, but reached for his hand anyway.

__

End

======

Final notes are will come later, but I'm pleased over all with the way I ended this. It's the first VS chapter fic I've ever finished. And many, many thanks to Jack for helping me start it. He got me through a whole lot of rough spots in these chapters. And doing bullet style _was_ more effective. 

Wow. I almost totally jumped off the cliff here. No notes, no outline. Just a general idea of where I wanted to go. Wow… 


	4. Epilogue

****

What Doesn't Kill You

Epilogue

The wind blew Tia's peasant dress this way and that, but she managed to look dignified in spite of it. Her soft, welcoming smile would be enough thanks for any mercenary, and the only reward he would receive.

She watched the sun rise over the wintry landscape and watched a figure approach them with a steady gait.

As the man came closer into view, she began to have an odd feeling in her stomach. Like it was warm and buzzing. She knew not what this meant. Was this some kind of instinctual warning against the stranger? The muscles in her arms tensed. He was nearly beside her now.

He stopped, staring blankly at her face for what most would consider an impolite length of time. At first she simply looked back at him, noticing the small dots of blood on his bare chest and arms, and some dirt on his face, possibly from an altercation of some sort. Eventually, she was able to work up her nerve and bring herself to speak. 

"Do I...know...you?" she asked. Those had not been the words she had planned on saying. And yet...there they were.

The man remained still, his eyes harsh, yet peaceful. As though he had seen a lifetime of sorrow, perhaps even been the cause of it, but still felt guilty over something. His long, blonde hair fell across his shoulders, stray bits of grass caught here and there. He shook his head slightly, tossing them free in the process. 

"No madam..." he said finally. "I believe you do not know me."

"Why...why do you look at me so?" she continued. Those eyes. They yet remained, fixed upon her own. She felt a sudden urge to cry.

At this the stranger finally relented, looking off to the side. 

"My apologies..." he said, his voice nearly a whisper, and yet as strong and clear as a silver trumpet. "I was...You are very beautiful, milady." He started to continue down the path and past her, but she placed a hand on his arm before he could leave.

"Wait..." Her mind swirled. Was this...could it be? After all these years?

They stood there for a while, neither saying a word, her eyes on his, while he looked toward the ground. 

"Thank you..." she said at last. The stranger paused for a moment, nodded, and continued on his way.

She could not shake the feeling that she knew him, that she should stop him from leaving. That she should speak to him some more.

But before she could work up the nerve, he was gone, and she was almost certain he would not return.

__

The End…or is it?


End file.
